


Sea of Sorrow and Sand

by Redrikki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: Ben Kenobi is an island in a sea of sorrow and sand.





	Sea of Sorrow and Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Star Wars Fictober prompt 'island' and the [ hurt/comfort bingo](https://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/145157.html?thread=945669) prompt 'substance abuse."

Beru Lars brought Obi-Wan a skin of water to celebrate the Lunar New Year. It was a tradition of sorts on Tatooine, the prosperous bringing water to the less fortunate. Obi-Wan supposed he qualified, what with the slaughter of his people and destruction of his entire life’s work. If that wasn’t bad enough, his vaporator was on its last legs. He’d been supplementing it’s meager offerings with black melon milk. It was passably thirst-quenching fresh and delightfully intoxicating when not. He'd been indulging in more of the later than the former.

“You shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan slurred as he accepted the water. 

“Oh, I really should.” Beru gave him a good looking over and Obi-Wan flushed under the scrutiny. There had been a time when he’d prided himself on his neatness, back when he trimmed his beard and bathed on a regular basis. Out here in the desert, he’d gotten so used to the smell of his own sweat, but it was so much more pungent now with Beru here.

She shoved past him into the hovel he called home. It was just a simple room with some storage and a refresher off to the sides. “If I’d known you were coming, I might have tidied up.” 

It certainly needed it. Domestic chores had never been his forte. Back at the Temple, they’d had droids for cooking and cleaning and it was hard to pick up the habit now. With only one pot, Obi-Wan did the dishes regularly at least, but he’d let the kitchen scraps pile up. The tiny mound of snake bones by the stove was starting to attract bugs. 

Beru turned a slow circle as the took in the room. “I’m worried about you, Ben,” she said when she’d made the full circuit. “You aren’t taking care of yourself. You need to get out more.”

“I get out plenty.” Every day he went foraging for food and once a week he walked to the Lars farm to observe the boy. He meditated under the suns and wandered the wastes listening to the Force’s mournful song. 

“Then why haven’t I seen you in town? There’s a reason this place was empty when you moved in. No one can’t survive out here on their own.”

Obi-Wan picked up his half-finished mug of melon milk and took a swig. “Is this were you tell me to find myself a wife?” He couldn’t imagine there were many women out there clamoring to be married to a washed-up Jedi.

Beru’s frustration swelled behind her pursed lips. Obi-Wan could feel it rising in the Force like an approaching storm. “This is where I tell you to wash your hair, clean your robes, and go to meet your neighbors. Stop holding yourself apart and be a part of this community.” 

“No man an island, eh?” He’d heard that said somewhere once. Not Tatooine, obviously, couldn't have islands without water, but somewhere in his travels. No man was an island when all life was connected by the Force. Except he is. An island in a sea of sorrow and sand. Once, he could close his eyes and sense thousands of Jedi. Now he and Yoda were the tiniest of archipelagos. His eyes began to burn with tears that wouldn’t come and it was possible, he realized, that he was more than a bit drunk. 

Beru shook her head. “That’s exactly what you are, Ben, and if you stay out here you’re going to drown in sand.”


End file.
